"A Night at the Beach"
by Jasmine Banks
The morning after I tried to drown myself, I remember thinking, “I’m so thankful that merman saved me.”
I had never taken a vacation in my adult life before my mother died. In my mind, vacations were something afforded only to the very wealthy. However, after a lifetime of taking care of my family and a particularly trying six weeks spent caring for my mother—day in and out--I felt like one was deserved and necessary.
I boarded my plane at LAX where I walked past the Hare Krishnas chanting, past the men screaming, “Hey you! Get in my cab!”, and all the way past the new construction and up to the gate. I was on my way to run away from my problems. I thought seven days and six nights at an all-inclusive resort should cure my woes—or at the very least, console them.
Arriving in Mexico was a dream of sorts. A resort on the beach, all I could eat or drink or think of, I could have it. That’s what it felt like, anyway. That’s the funny thing about feelings, though; they’re as fleeting as waves lapping at the sand—you can always count on them to ebb and flow. What felt like the experience of my dreams was a bittersweet-and-sour mixed drink I could not consume enough of. I drank until my stomach ached, my feet moved without permission, and my mouth knew no bounds.
My feet carried me away from the bar and down the beach. When I walked off the resort property I was warned that the beach was “closed” at night and that I should not be out after dark. I did not care. Obviously, my feet were looking for trouble.
Grief is a dangerously humorous creature. It always seemed to sneak up on me in the simplest ways. I might have been shopping or eating dinner or maybe even enjoying a swim and, suddenly, something enjoyable would turn into gasping for air, drowning in a sea of emotion. When a suffocation like that would suck the wind from my sails, there was no place to go but down.
I probably could’ve lived well enough having never experienced loss like I had in a short time, but it really got me to thinking; after I lost my brother in 2011 and then my mother in 2018, I felt very alone. I felt like all my best friends were dead and there was no purpose to living alone and on my own anymore. We had called ourselves the three musketeers. My mom, my brother, and I were “All for one and one for all!” so it just felt fitting that my feet would be out in the night, looking to meet up with them.
Water is cleansing, but it is also very dangerous; I know from experience that you should never turn your back on The Ocean. You never know just what she is thinking. She might be plotting to sink your battleship or just whisk you away. I walked all along the beach that night until I saw a fire and some lights. Some people were enjoying their time together. I was insanely jealous but also happy for them. I stopped and I spoke to them, I drank their caguama beers with them, and then I made up my mind. I didn’t want to be sad anymore—or ever again. In that moment, I was just so tired of living that I decided to take a night swim.
Before you are born you are enveloped in a kind of warm, dark water in your mother’s womb and then suddenly thrust into the cold brightness of the world just like that. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to get warm and close to someone again. Putting my feet into The Ocean, I felt that warmth again and I let it cover me. Naked as the day I was born I let it wash over me and carry me out to sea. I didn’t care that the land was dark and the water was only lit with the light of the rising moon. I did not care that when I swam out on a wave, each breath carried me closer to death. I welcomed my mortality in that moment, and I wanted it to take me to the sea of my dreams, to the place I could finally be free from my grief.
I was getting tired of holding my head up and I just decided this would be a good spot to let go, and when I did, something grabbed me up. I didn’t know what, but there it was, holding me tightly and asking me, “Why?” It was like being ripped from the womb once again. Stretched out, shook, and then snuggled.
I did die that night, but The Ocean didn’t take my life; she baptized me and made me brand new. She washed my sins away and gave me a new purpose--with the help of a man. I didn’t know who he was or where he had come from, but he was there and he was begging me to live. God, The Ocean, The Universe. No one had to reach their hand out to me, but they did, and I am so glad I took it.
Nothing is perfect and there is still so much work to do, but at least I know now that “I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”
I had never taken a vacation in my adult life before my mother died. In my mind, vacations were something afforded only to the very wealthy. However, after a lifetime of taking care of my family and a particularly trying six weeks spent caring for my mother—day in and out--I felt like one was deserved and necessary.
I boarded my plane at LAX where I walked past the Hare Krishnas chanting, past the men screaming, “Hey you! Get in my cab!”, and all the way past the new construction and up to the gate. I was on my way to run away from my problems. I thought seven days and six nights at an all-inclusive resort should cure my woes—or at the very least, console them.
Arriving in Mexico was a dream of sorts. A resort on the beach, all I could eat or drink or think of, I could have it. That’s what it felt like, anyway. That’s the funny thing about feelings, though; they’re as fleeting as waves lapping at the sand—you can always count on them to ebb and flow. What felt like the experience of my dreams was a bittersweet-and-sour mixed drink I could not consume enough of. I drank until my stomach ached, my feet moved without permission, and my mouth knew no bounds.
My feet carried me away from the bar and down the beach. When I walked off the resort property I was warned that the beach was “closed” at night and that I should not be out after dark. I did not care. Obviously, my feet were looking for trouble.
Grief is a dangerously humorous creature. It always seemed to sneak up on me in the simplest ways. I might have been shopping or eating dinner or maybe even enjoying a swim and, suddenly, something enjoyable would turn into gasping for air, drowning in a sea of emotion. When a suffocation like that would suck the wind from my sails, there was no place to go but down.
I probably could’ve lived well enough having never experienced loss like I had in a short time, but it really got me to thinking; after I lost my brother in 2011 and then my mother in 2018, I felt very alone. I felt like all my best friends were dead and there was no purpose to living alone and on my own anymore. We had called ourselves the three musketeers. My mom, my brother, and I were “All for one and one for all!” so it just felt fitting that my feet would be out in the night, looking to meet up with them.
Water is cleansing, but it is also very dangerous; I know from experience that you should never turn your back on The Ocean. You never know just what she is thinking. She might be plotting to sink your battleship or just whisk you away. I walked all along the beach that night until I saw a fire and some lights. Some people were enjoying their time together. I was insanely jealous but also happy for them. I stopped and I spoke to them, I drank their caguama beers with them, and then I made up my mind. I didn’t want to be sad anymore—or ever again. In that moment, I was just so tired of living that I decided to take a night swim.
Before you are born you are enveloped in a kind of warm, dark water in your mother’s womb and then suddenly thrust into the cold brightness of the world just like that. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to get warm and close to someone again. Putting my feet into The Ocean, I felt that warmth again and I let it cover me. Naked as the day I was born I let it wash over me and carry me out to sea. I didn’t care that the land was dark and the water was only lit with the light of the rising moon. I did not care that when I swam out on a wave, each breath carried me closer to death. I welcomed my mortality in that moment, and I wanted it to take me to the sea of my dreams, to the place I could finally be free from my grief.
I was getting tired of holding my head up and I just decided this would be a good spot to let go, and when I did, something grabbed me up. I didn’t know what, but there it was, holding me tightly and asking me, “Why?” It was like being ripped from the womb once again. Stretched out, shook, and then snuggled.
I did die that night, but The Ocean didn’t take my life; she baptized me and made me brand new. She washed my sins away and gave me a new purpose--with the help of a man. I didn’t know who he was or where he had come from, but he was there and he was begging me to live. God, The Ocean, The Universe. No one had to reach their hand out to me, but they did, and I am so glad I took it.
Nothing is perfect and there is still so much work to do, but at least I know now that “I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”